


Unsteady Gaze

by ReyReySolo



Category: Reylo - Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Inner Dialogue, Love, Modern AU, Redemption, Reylo - Freeform, Stream of Consciousness from the writer, Tension, patience - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReyReySolo/pseuds/ReyReySolo
Summary: Ben Solo in his late 20s forever dreaming to make it big w his new wave renewal band - Kylo & the Nights of Ren - he thinks the world is full of phonies (except him) until he meets Rey - a posh socialite and finds out she has a richer inner life than anyone he’s ever met beforeAn Answer to the ThisReyThisBen photo prompt by the lovely @riseofreylo
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15





	1. Ben

Ben is a narcissist- but not the ‘manipulative, gaslight you’ kind - he was a benign narcissist. The kind of person who couldn’t fathom that someone else could possibly feel as deeply as he does, think as deeply as he does. Ben saw himself as singular on an island - destined for loneliness - he imagined it as though he were a victim of circumstance. And in a way, yes, I suppose he was - if someone could be a victim of the circumstances they created.

Ben was to blame for his own isolation - the desolation of his own spirit. Though he wouldn’t admit it or allow himself to see it.

Ben had been precocious from an early age. He was intuitive, sensing, perceptive. He caught on to almost everything quickly - nearly without explanation - labeled as prideful, haughty even - though he didn’t comport himself that way at first, at least in his early years. Bouncing around the classroom, bored, he couldn’t sit still - getting into trouble. But still making all the marks- years continued to roll by. 

Ben made it through college without much effort- spending less time studying than he did dawdling around, playing his guitar, smoking pot, and watching Truffaut films He even went to grad school - before he dropped out. Ben’s brilliance couldn’t be confined to paper and peer-reviewed journals that to him basically consisted of the same five groups of 10 or so people giving eachother cerebral handjobs in print form. 

Ben gave it all up to pursue what he deemed his passion project. Kylo and the Nights of Ren. Ben was going to bring about some revival - a revival of real art- he thought - he looked up to his heroes - Joy Division, New Order, Bowie, The Cure, Stephen Malkmus in the time of Pavement

Ben lived in an esoteric menagerie of an apartment. It was something like if a tornado had gone through the set of a Wes Anderson film - an organized clutter of chaos - but still appearing entirely intentional down to the smallest detail. The dishes in the sink, the sock in the middle of the floor, stood in stark contrast to the meticulously arranged bookshelf. The mattress low on the floor with the sheets half made, the ashtray on the windowsill looking out onto the fire escape. The way Ben’s body made it look like he was living in a dollhouse diorama created by some contemporary artist who thought themself clever. 

Ben’s bookshelf was filled with all the things you would expect, torn and tattered copies of Catcher and Franny, lined up next to Cat’s Cradle and Deadeye Dick. The half-ripped Faulkners, Voltaires, and Huxleys sitting next the Proust he certainly acted like he had read, but the French was just a bit above his level, out of his grasp. The posters on the wall, the vinyls on the shelf. The ironic VHS tapes and pop-top VCR with the copy of Harold and Maude stuck inside. Ben was on the surface a paramore of aesthetic, of carelessness, of philosophical drivel - his outward nature reflecting his inside - but with just a tiny bit tucked away. No one who visited ever noticed the little things hidden away within plain sight. The bible that so obsequiously hid itself away amidst the other collections - harkening to something he hid away deeply from the world inside of himself. No one had ever looked that deep - not that he would have let them. 

Ben was growing ever more weary over the last 6 months, The world passing on by and moving around him. His friends growing up, getting married, having children. At 29, Ben felt simultaneously too young yet too old to achieve anything. He told himself those things were superficial that they didn’t really mean anything much anyway. That kind of life, that kind of love, couldn’t exist for him. Who would ever understand him fully. His deep yearnings, his hidden desires. Ben outwardly projecting his calm, collect, cool image. Inside, his deepest fears were pushed down. The longing he felt, in all its purity, who could ever feel the same. Besides, it was too late for him anyway. The things, he’d done, the things he hid sometimes from himself. They were too much. Too much to be seen, too much to be loved, too much to be redeemed.

  
  


Ben woke up that morning in haze, a halo in his peripheral vision. He hadn’t drank that much, he didn’t even have a headache, but he felt in a daze. He stumbled 5 feet over to the 2 burner stove top, Easy bake sized toaster oven, and skinny fridge he so graciously designated as a kitchen. He pulled out a V8 and popped open the tab - taking a large gulp, making room for the double shot of vodka he poured into the empty space. He ran his fingers through his hair, taking an extra second when his elbow 90 degrees, his forearm parallel with the ground, to inhale deeply. _I guess I oughta shower_ Ben thought to himself. 

Ben exited the shower, toweling himself off with languor - he peered into the half fogged mirror. _Same me, same you_ he said aloud to himself. He ran his brush through his hair, letting the strands rest together for a moment in conformity before eagerly tousling it ever so slightly. 

Ben walked down the street, the same familiar three blocks from the parish he secretly visited from time to time. Sneaking into the back unnoticed. The place nearly empty a few scattered old people throughout the random pews. He wasn't even Catholic, wasn’t raised Catholic, certainly didn’t care to become one. But something about the stained glass windows gave him a tiny bit of peace. His inner mumblings became still for a moment; the monologue ceasing. He knew who was listening in the self-imposed silence.


	2. Rey

Rey looked out her window taking in the warmth as she basked in the soft heat shining onto her skin. Ever the optimist, a million ideas ran through her head about what she could do in this weather. Spring was finally here. 

She hummed to herself sweetly as she fixed herself a cup of tea - Loose leaf which she made in the cutest little pot after pouring boiling water from her steaming kettle. A little Saturday indulgence that had become her cozy routine. She poured her tea into her favorite little mug and sat down at her little kitchen table snuggled deeply into her plush lavender robe. She let out a peaceful sigh and picked up her favorite bright pink pen nestled in the crook of her worn down notebook. She opened it up to her last page

“I wait expectantly  
Choosing to believe your promises are real  
I yearn for the fulfillment of my desire…  
That which i have whispered secretly into your heart in the middle of the night  
Hoping you’re in turn laying out the path before him, whispering directions into his ears as he sleeps…”

Boop beep beep Boop  
Her phone let out a little chime

‘We still on for the park today? The weather is perfect’ the text read  
‘Sure, thing - see you at 11’

It was Rose. Rose had been Rey’s best friend since she was a child, the one constant in her life. Rey finished her tea smiling as she thought about all the little exploits and adventures she and Rose had instigated as children. How they’d hide in the dumbwaiter of the big fancy apartment building Rose lived in trying to spy on the other residents, fabricating fake crimes and conspiracies to be solve. How when Rose came to her house, a beautiful large brownstone, they would lay out her stuffed animals all throughout the house in different rooms mimicking their natural habitats and pretend they were on a safari capturing wildlife in its untainted beauty with their fake cardboard cameras. The way they almost believed they were actual mermaids when they would swim in the country club pool, describing each other’s tails in vivid imagery, diving for treasure. But mostly, Rey remembered how her mother would bake them fresh chocolate chip cookies, just the way Rey liked them, extra fluffy like clouds, and daintily carry them up to them warm on a fancy little plate with two pretty decorative glasses filled with milk into their tent fort just before bedtime. And after they had brushed their teeth Rey would lay in her little jammies snuggled up on her mother's chest as she read them their favorite stories with the voices until their eyelids were heavy with sleep that they could no longer fight away. 

Rey missed her parents. But they were never coming back. She had lost them both. Daddy was the next in line to be CEO of the family business. He and Mom had left for a routine trip but their plane crashed in the middle of an unexpected storm. She had a living grandfather but couldn't remember ever meeting him, though she had heard he was a cruel, standoffish tycoon type. He never once reached out to her and he didn’t come to their funeral. 

After the tragedy, she went to live with the Plutt family, an arrangement made behind the scenes by her technical guardian grandfather. Plutt was grubby, rotund type keen to do anything to please the boss or climb his way up the ladder. He and his insufferable gossip of a wife were more than happy to accept the monthly stipend they were given each month to ‘take care of her’ They largely ignored her; she spent most nights eating alone in her room whatever they had decided to give her - and usually half the amount that they gave their own son, who actively avoided the little orphan with whom he was forced to coexist. The only affection Rey received was largely false when they trotted her out all dolled up to company events, parties, galas… Rey would smile and stay quiet, nodding sweetly to the praise of well-meaning, unknowing strangers.

Rey spent most of her nights looking out the little window in her room, praying, gazing at the stars, pretending someone else was out there doing the same so she wouldn’t feel so alone, like the lost little mouse in that movie she once saw. She did have Rose though, who loved her dearly, even though she couldn’t quite grasp the depth of her pain. Rey found solace in her notebook and her faith - she had to believe that one day something good would come out of her despair; that beauty could come from ashes, that she could build a better future. 

Rey read and wrote a little bit more that morning, stretched out on the chaise lounge in the corner. Her apartment was a cute, quaint 1 bedroom, 1 bath in the part of the city where boho chic began to meet nouveau riche. She had money from her parents, but she chose not to use most of it. Just enough to live in comfort with a few tiny luxuries here and there. Her living room was lovingly decorated with small pieces that spoke to her though they might not be grand or verbose. Her style was a cozy, eclectic blend of bohemian warmth, pastel splashes, and mid century modern touches. Warm and welcoming like her soul. 

Though not everyone felt that way about her. In public, Rey was perceived as snobbish, pretentious, and perhaps even a bit brash when criticizing the excesses around her. She wasn’t comfortable in large crowds with everyone staring at her - analyzing her - knowing they were talking about her personal tragedy and upbringing as they whispered in each others’ ears in her presence. Rey was part of a social circle comprised of what you might deign as local celebrities, all around her own age, sons and daughters of politicians, stockbrokers, CEOs - she did things with them as was expected of her given her background; she certainly never felt at home with them. Nevertheless, she was guilty by association. Rose was the only one to whom she’d reveal a piece of the real her. Her true self she kept private. Maybe one day, she’d find someone she could bare her whole heart to, at least, she hoped.


	3. Chapter 3

Ben left the church and quickly lit up a cigarette. He remembered his teenage enthusiasm for a moment, when he had fancied himself a hardcore idealist, straight-edge devotee, remembering the slogan and how things had changed “Don’t smoke, Don’t drink, Don’t…” well except for maybe one thing. His friends had always fancied him as wild, all the girls at the parties, all the girls at the shows.. Drunk and giggly… following him around. He seemed to have left with quite a few of them equally sloshed… but they never got in the cabs with him. He smirked to himself Ben Solo, out of step with the world, a regular Nazarite...

Ben kept walking steadily down the street, now carrying a coffee cup in one hand from his stop over at one of those way too overpriced organic, fair trade but really is it, tiny shops that were becoming ubiquitous in his neighborhood… He hated phony idealism… but the beans were good.   
Ben rounded the corner and his eyes met the beginning of the fenced-in park. He entered the gate and gazed around looking for that familiar face. He neared the playground and there he saw her at the edge watching the children scream and play with the baby wrapped around her, a stroller to her side. “Hey baby, baby” he said as he approached patting the little one on the head, still holding the coffee cup in his left hand, cigarette burning between his fingers. 

“What’s it take to get a hello like that?” the woman said as she turned to face him.   
“Kriff, Ben, how many times do I have to tell you not to smoke around the baby”   
“Alright, Alright” he said putting the cigarette out on the side of his cup, flicking the bud to the ground, he leaned in and kissed her on the forehead  
“How’s it going, sis?” He placed his coffee cup on the ground and pulled the baby out of the wrap, holding her to his chest.   
“You know same old, same old”   
“He’s away again”  
“Yeah, duty calls… while I sit here living my fabulous exciting life filled with Jacen’s toddler tantrums and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches”   
“Well - at least they’re organic” Ben said, smirking as he cradled Jaina’s head, tickling her soft baby hair with his nose.   
“Shut up” Leia said, rolling her eyes but laughing on the inside. Soon, she’d be back to work and missing all these moments and she knew that.   
“Well…”  
“Well, what?” Ben asked slightly offended, knowing very well what well meant coming from her  
“Well… what are you doing with your life? Still kicking around with that band?”  
“Yes I’m still kicking around with that band. Jesus, you know that”  
“Ben, come on… you’re almost 30… you’ve got so much more to offer than that. I mean you quit grad school but you at least got your master’s before - you could be teaching, finishing your research…”  
“Alright, that’s it, that’s it… I’m done… Here’s your baby… thank you very much” Ben said reluctantly but forcefully handing Jaina over in effort to make a point  
Ben bent down and picked up the soccer ball, yelling “Come On Jacen! Your favorite person is here”  
“Damn it, Ben, why are you such a child!”   
“Let’s go kiddo!”  
Jacen's little body hightailed it from the merry go round and ran with gusto in his direction. Those little jeans and a red sweater making their way across the playground.   
“BENNNNNN” he yelled as he burst into Ben’s chest with a forceful hug.   
“Come on buddy, let’s play. Mommy is boring”

**Author's Note:**

> We'll see where this goes... just started writing whatever came up out of me today... but think it might be a good start to something?  
> Comments? Feedback? Questions? Always welcome


End file.
